Ishliyan

                Snow glistened on the side of the rocky mountains that marked the southern Gehldian coast, which was all but impossible to reach due to the mountains themselves. With the highest topping two and a half miles in height, they gave off a formidable aura. The sun’s warmth tentatively licked the cold as if afraid of being frozen itself. It was summer, although the mountains still wore their caps of ice and snow. Catching a shard of ice hanging precariously at an awkward angle – it looked about to fall – the magnified beam of light spun off into the distance, so bright it could pierce and blind a human eye at a glance. Iced over lakes spread into the distance – Gehldian had been famous for its lakes and flowers – the glassy layer atop the frozen water reflecting the clear blue sky as perfectly as a mirror. They were dotted about as carelessly as you would throw down dice. Some were large; measuring miles in distance, whereas some were small enough to be called ponds. There was no breeze, no shade, nothing to take the heat from the beating sun. It was unnerving, the sun was a boiling ball of fire, yet no snow melted, no ice defrosted. Even the soil beneath the ground was frozen solid, so there was no hope of any vegetation or plants growing. Not that anything would survive anyway; it was way too cold for that. Once this land would have been alive with bright colours, lush, healthy greens in the plants and leaves; and a wild array of hues in the flowers: ranging from deep purples and pretty pinks to vivid reds and sunny yellows. The air would have been a haze of beautiful scents from the blankets of flowers that would have lain beneath. Dead. That was the word to describe the land now.
Snow and ice were the only things to cover the ground now – no beautiful flowers. And all the air held now was the stifling heat projected from the blinding white of the non-melting snow. With a stab of sadness, he surveyed the land below and knew that there was no hope for the land now. Hope had been lost a long time ago.
Hovering 50 paces above ground level, he tried to focus his thoughts into the state of Zen needed for Travelling. Clearing his mind, he slowly let his senses fade away, until the sudden familiar tingling rushed into his veins and restored his feelings again. It was a head rush; the whole world pulsated beneath him, and colours were inverted, like a photo negative. With him concentrating, the ground below started to move, slowly at first, but gathering speed quickly. Scenery blurred into a white and light blue miasma shimmering beneath. Suddenly, as soon as it had started it stopped.
Directly beneath him was a deserted stone farmhouse. It was the first clue that civilisation had once existed here he had seen. Lowering himself carefully to the ground, he could see that what remained of the stonework was slowly sinking into the forsaken earth waiting below. It had to have been abandoned an age ago for half the farmhouse was sunken and was buried already. Because of the sweltering sun, and the never-melting snow, a sheen of sweat covered his bare chest, making him feel sticky and uncomfortable; while his feet were ice cold and already a light shade of blue.
He would have thought it impossible to be this hot and cold at the same time, but his body was proving him wrong. Rising up into the air again, wearing a frown on his face and with the rushing sensation filling him with power, the world started to stir again. Eyes creased in concentration as much as for protection against the sun, the land was snatched from below as fast as lightning underneath. The glimpses of past civilisation, only noticeable for barely a second appeared to be increasing; soon tiny foresaken villages were flashing past, and even sooner towns. But they were all deserted; there was no sign of life at all. His hair stood up in sweat slicked spikes, raven black against the glare of the sun.
With his face being covered in fresh streams of perspiration almost every minute, and towns slowly evolving into small cities, the whir of moving land ground to a halt as, on top of a huge hill crammed full with houses, shops, stables and taverns, a cluster of mansions stood as if waiting for something magnificent to happen. This was the first proper city he had come across. A blanket of snow still covered the ground, and towards the bottom of the hill all he could see of the run down buildings were the roofs.
Mentally exhausted – Travelling always took a great amount of mental energy – he let himself gradually drop to the ground, and just lay there trying to recuperate. As he brushed his fringe away from his face and blinked sweat from his eyes, he noticed a thin smear of red, clear against the paleness of his skin. Delicately he brushed his hand underneath his nose, and found it bright red with blood. Impatiently wiping it against his trousers, he lifted himself to his feet unsteadily. Lying on the snow had at first been blissfully cool, but was now starting to make him shiver. His mind was throbbing angrily and screaming for sleep, but he bent down and scooped up a handful of snow and wiped his face, as though washing with it. It made his teeth chatter and goosebumps stand out on his shoulder, but it got the desired effect; at least his eyes were awake now. He couldn’t afford to waste time sleeping – he had plenty of time for doing that properly when he got back. Stumbling around, he inspected the mansions warily, as though they were about to attack him. They seemed bigger and more fearful up close, and were grand enough to be palaces.
Examining the first one closely, it was white, and gilded ornately around the windows, but he saw nothing of any importance.
Empty.
The same inside, deserted, and with the next two as well. But while he was examining the fourth, a sudden movement caught his eye. Spinning to face the action, he noticed that the sun had moved a full two positions in the sky; he hadn’t got much time left. A curtain was blowing, in a non-existent breeze, in the top left window of the first house he had checked. He knew that it hadn’t been like that before; and he wondered if someone was toying with him. Walking back towards the house warily, he pushed open the heavy front door, which emitted an eerie creak that hadn’t been there before. Treading snow into the hall, he suspiciously padded up the wide staircase that greeted guests as soon as they stepped in. Suddenly, in the corner of his vision, a black shape appeared, but was gone in a second. Twisting around to confront the space where it had been, another one flashed past in the corner of his eye again. Everywhere he turned there was always at least one; sometimes more, but only in his indirect lines of vision. Never did he see them fully, or for more than a second or two, but there they always were, dancing tauntingly at the limits of his eyesight. There was no form to them, no structure, their shapes were easily interchangeable – they seemed to stay as one, they flowed from form to form. He turned and scrambled up the stairs as fast as he could, but the shapes followed. Running straight into the nearest room, the sight that greeted him drove all thoughts of black shapes out of his head. Two little children, sat, frozen in a corner. The eldest no older than four, and the other barely older than a baby. They had definitely not been there before. The youngest, who was maybe two, possibly one, clutched a toy doll in her hand as though it was the last thing alive. Icicles clung to both of their hair and skin, and a thin layer of ice preserved their bodies, although it did distort their features slightly. The girl’s rosy cheeks were still visible, and her smile seemed slightly twisted beneath the ice. They boy was frozen, reading a book. He was frowning at the page, and biting his lip studiously, although he would never finish the page. Staring at the statues with tears in his eyes, he didn’t notice the black shapes swarming around, filling his vision until it was too late. Darkness overwhelmed him…